


Amaurëa

by ancient_moonshine



Series: Elanor and Niphredil [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, 镇魂 | Guardian (TV), 镇魂 | Guardian - priest
Genre: Dark Lord Shen Wei, Dysfunctional Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, Guilt, Half-Elven Prince Zhao Yunlan, Hurt/Comfort, It has a happy ending I swear, Knowledge of Tolkien's universe only necessary to identify Easter Eggs, Lima Syndrome, Lots of torture, Mental Instability, No need to read Silmarillion, Power Imbalance, Protectiveness, Stockholm Syndrome, Tenderness, The Tale of Beren and Luthien, They get better, Torture, Virginity Kink, Works bastardized include, and The Children of Hurin, dom/sub dynamics, just get through the first chapter, lots of hurt/comfort, shift in power dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-28 08:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancient_moonshine/pseuds/ancient_moonshine
Summary: Kun Lun and his first meeting with the dreaded Black Envoy, in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhauth.





	1. Chapter 1

The orcs clap him in irons and shove him in a dank cell stinking of rot. Then they take him out, drag him down the corridor – Kun Lun struggling all the while – and chain him to a table that’s still slippery with the blood of its last occupant. By the time they’re done with him Kun Lun’s throat has given out from screaming, his body a hank of raw meat. He’s slumped back against the table, teeth gritted, trembling but refusing to beg for death when he feels his chains being loosened.

He opens his eyes, struggles. His flailing hand catches on something, and there’s the sound of something small and made of leather hitting the ground. Kun Lun opens his eyes to see startling beauty amidst all this horror. Large dark eyes, wide with surprise in a moon-white face framed by silken black hair. Kun Lun smiles in spite of himself upon seeing it.

“ _Vanimelda.”_ He breathes out. Cool fingers touch his forehead, the feel of them so soothing and gentle that Kun Lun leans against it in relief. And then pain erupts, everywhere, all over his body, the likes he didn’t think was still possible, and Kun Lun _screams._  

By the end of it Kun Lun is whole again, trembling in his chains. The Black Envoy pulls away  - the first time Kun Lun sees him without his mask – and tells his torturers to do it all over again.

\---

Time blurs. There is no light here in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhauth. Kun Lun marks the passage of the hours with how the orcs drag him out of cell and back to the torturing block. His skin ripped apart and his bones crushed, only to be healed once more by the Black Envoy and brought back to his cell, for it to be done all over again the next day.

He wants the location of Doriath, the forest kingdom protected by the power of their Maia Queen. Kun Lun refuses to let himself talk. First out of honor and protecting those he loves (he hopes Da Qing got away in time and in one piece), now he does so mostly out of spite.

“Aren’t you tired?” The Black Envoy’s voice is soft and deep. Nothing like what Kun Lun expected at all, when the former was a masked shadow commanding legions and sacking kingdoms. The first time Kun Lun had seen him had been during his escape from Dór-lomin  after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Kun Lun still remembers how the skies had darkened in the middle of the day, covering everything in a suffocating black shroud. No burning torches drove it back, and only the starlight his mother had trapped in pieces of crystal  provided any illumination bright enough to light their paths. But even this was not enough, as orcs swarmed  Dór-lomin's gates, making quick work of the overwhelmed human soldiers. 

The black hooded figure had been at the head of the invading army as Kun Lun and his mother ran from their burning city, and Kun Lun had felt his heart stand still in his chest as the Black Envoy turned his attention towards him. His mother had held a sword, grimly prepared to die in the defense of her son, but the Envoy had turned his back on them like the Elf-Queen and her son were beneath him. Signaling his forces to take the city.

His human father, the king, had been captured during the battle. Kun Lun has heard no word of him ever since.

Black Envoy’s fell powers had warped Kun Lun’s old home, poison seeping into the land and the trees. His mother had sent him away to the elf-kingdom of Doriath to keep him safe. He had been only eleven years old.

He’d joined the ranks of the Elven army when he was fifteen and unable to quell the restlessness in his spirit. The anger over his mother’s sorrow, his father’s capture and suffering – it had suffused him like a flame, and that fire he’d directed against the ravening battalions of orcs. It had only been a matter of time before he caught the Black Envoy’s attention.

The irony of his current situation is not lost on Kun Lun, and finally alone in his cell, he almost chokes on his laughter. He’s still laughing when the guard in charge of bringing him his food – a hank of stale bread and hard cheese, and a tankard of water – the Black Envoy wants him to keep his strength up, he thinks cynically  - shoves the tray under the grate of his door. He only stifles his giggles when he crams the food into his mouth, grimly determined to keep his strength up for another day of pain.

 

\--

“If you give up now, no one will blame you.” The Black Envoy says. He’s wearing his mask again. Kun Lun grins a bloody grin, spits at him. It lands on the black leather. The Black Envoy doesn’t so much as blink, just wipes at the mingled spittle and blood.

No one who had ever seen the Black Envoy’s face had survived to tell the tale, he’d been told. At the end of every session, after he’s healed Kun Lun, the Black Envoy always sends everyone else out of the torture chamber so he can interrogate Kun Lun at length. 

 “I’m not about to give that satisfaction to the Dark Lord’s _bitch_.” Kun Lun sneers. The Black Envoy watches him with cold eyes. The table, to Kun Lun’s bemused discovery, can be maneuvered into a standing position. A true marvel of orcish craftsmanship. His wrists hang from manacles, and although Kun Lun’s other injuries have been – painfully – healed – the chafing around them has not.

“Your friends are dead and gone. Your allies have abandoned you. Your father and your lineage have been cursed.” The Black Envoy leans forwards.  His eyes are very dark, and very large. Ringed with thick black lashes. Kun Lun remembers the beauty hidden beneath that mask, and grits his teeth against his pain-addled thoughts.

“Give up, and it all ends.” The Black Envoy says softly. “All the pain will stop, and you’ll slip away to the halls of Mandos and await the fate of the _peredhel_." For one single, painful moment, Kun Lun is tempted to give in. To give it all up and find peace. But he also knows such peace would elude him for the rest of his existence if he betrays what’s left of his friends and family.

He’s already damned to begin with anyway. He takes a deep breath, leans forwards as much as the chains would let him.

“Go fuck yourself.” He breathes instead. The Black Envoy simply looks at him.

“I admire your honor.” He says simply, and Kun Lun blinks, because the Black Envoy sounds _sad._ His voice soft with remorse. The Black Envoy holds his gaze for a moment longer, then he turns, summons his orcs, and Kun Lun closes his eyes again when he feels himself being dragged back to his cell like a limp rag doll.

\---

Time passes.

Kun Lun’s voice gives out one day, his screams dying down to nothing more than a raspy whistle. The Black Envoy places a gentle hand on his throat, and Kun Lun gasps and chokes as he feels something like liquid fire pouring down his throat. He sucks in one breath, and another, finds he can speak again by pouring out a sound round of abuse at the Black Envoy’s head.

The Black Envoy’s lips twitch up in something that’s almost a smile. He orders Kun Lun to be brought back to his cell. Kun Lun counts two trays of food before he’d dragged out back to the torture chamber again.

He loses the use of his legs. The Black Envoy lays a palm over his back as Kun Lun heaves and fights the agonized terror clawing at his chest, and then he screams when he feels something snapping back into place. He spends the rest of the time in his cell clutching at his legs and shivering.

The torturer  breaks every one of his fingers at their joints. The Black Envoy heals all of them, and Kun Lun can only jerk and spasm as the bones repair themselves.

Through it all the Black Envoy keeps asking him the same questions. “Tell us about the hidden entrance.” “What are its defences.” “Tell us how to get past Melian’s Vale.” Kun Lun keeps silent. Just smiles, bleeding and broken. Bites his tongue bloody to keep the words from spilling out.

 ---

“Your father lives.” The Black Envoy tells him, and Kun Lun jerks his head up so fast he grunts in pain when the heavy chain wrapped around his neck keeps him from moving it properly. 

“He can see everything that’s happening to his only son.” The Black Envoy says. Quiet regret in his words, and Kun Lun grits his teeth, glares at him. The table beneath him is still wet with his blood. The orc left in charge of him had done everything short of cutting a limb. Kun Lun swings from his chains. He’s eye-level with the Black Envoy. The few times he’d had the energy to stand, he hadn’t failed to notice that the Black Envoy is an inch or so shorter than him.

It’s a strange thing to be aware of. As strange as the knowledge that beneath his mask the Black Envoy is beautiful, or that his hair is long and dark and looks soft as silk.

“End his pain, even if you do not wish to end yours.” The Black Envoy says. Kun Lun snickers, the sound raspy and harsh.

“You know, my father would have something to say to that if he can really hear us.” Kun Lun drawls. The Black Envoy simply looks at him.

“What may that be?” He asks. Kun Lun smiles, knife-sharp. All the warning the Black Envoy gets before he’s lunging up, his teeth sinking into the Black Envoy’s bottom lip.

The Black Envoy cries out in surprise. Kun Lun bites hard enough to break skin and draw blood, and the metallic flavour washes over his tongue at the same time the Black Envoy’s mouth gives beneath his. Yunlan takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between the  Envoy’s shock-parted lips. Licking at the walls of his cheeks and playfully flicking at his tongue before pulling back and grinning in triumph.

The Black Envoy is staring at him, stunned, hand held to his bleeding lip. His blood is _hot_ on Kun Lun’s tongue, and Kun Lun savors the taste of blood that isn’t his. He grins sunnily at the Black Envoy’s darkening face.

“He would tell me, I would cease to be his son if I betrayed our allies and friends for him.”  Kun Lun says.

“Then you are a fool.” The Black Envoy says, voice dangerously quiet. But there’s something else in his eyes. Pity, and Kun Lun hates him possibly even more for it than for all the tortures combined.“Just like your father is for opposing us despite all. Your Elf-friends have not come to your or his rescue up till now.” Kun Lun leans back against the table, laughing low and soft.

“Only a matter of time now.” He mumbles. “Only a matter of time.” He hears the sound of the Black Envoy’s boots on the stone floor, closes his eyes as he awaits a fresh round of pain. But none comes, and when Kun Lun opens his eyes he’s back in his cell without even realizing he’d been dragged back inside.

\--

They leave him alone for a while after that. Kun Lun doesn’t know what to make of it. His meals are served to him twice a day now, rather than once, and as he squints at them suspiciously even the portions seem bigger. The cheese rather less stale, the bread an entire loaf rather than a mouldering slice. Kun Lun had stared at his tray then shrugged – decided that whatever poison the Black Envoy had put in there would probably be no worse than anything he’s already been through now. To his surprise nothing happened after he ate it.

“Can I ask what are the reasons for the improved victuals?” Kun Lun drawls one – gods-knew-what time of the day it was. There’s a shape darker than the shadows beyond the corridor. The Black Envoy steps forwards. The outline of the black cloak he always wears merges almost seamlessly with the dark.

“Pain obviously isn’t working.” The Black Envoy says. “Perhaps a bit of kindness will go a great deal further than torture did. Of course, we could always  go back to the same if there’s no improvement.” Kun Lun chuckles, leaning back against the bars of his cell.

“Here I was thinking that the kiss helped.” Kun Lun says. And was that him or did the Black Envoy’s cheeks just flush a deeper color?

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The Black Envoy says. Kun Lun’s mouth splits into a grin. He remembers the taste of the Black Envoy’s blood. He presses his face against the bars of the cell, his eyes hooded. His hands are chained in front of him. If they hadn’t been, he would have reached out through the bars.

“Was that the first time someone kissed you?” Kun Lun runs a finger over the bars. It’s wrought-iron, and Kun Lun’s finger comes away flecked with either rust or dried blood. He looks up, finds his answer in the Black Envoy’s silence.

“Huh.” Kun Lun licks his lips. He remembers the cry the Black Envoy had made when Kun Lun bit him. He wonders what other sounds the Black Envoy makes. His stunning beauty, unseen by most.

“Do you want more?” He finds himself asking. Almost of its own volition he reaches down with his hand between his legs. He’s never been particularly bothered by shame, and if he can make the Black Envoy blush and squirm – so much the better.

“What are you-“ The Black Envoy falls silent. Behind his mask, Kun Lun can see his eyes widen. Kun Lun grins at him, wide and slightly feral, starts to stroke. Palming his length and he can see the Black Envoy standing frozen, staring. His breath going sharp as Kun Lun keeps touching himself, slow and gentle, like he’s performing for a lover instead of his jailer.

It takes a while to get hard, unsurprising considering his condition. Kun Lun strokes himself through his jerkin, feeling the slow kindling fire flow from his belly, then down. Going slow, and he’s been tortured so long he’s grateful to feel anything besides pain. Tears sear his eyes as he savors the pleasure warming his blood.

The Black Envoy’s eyes are wide. He takes a step forward, then two more back as Kun Lun lets out an indecent moan.

“Stop.” He says, his voice unsteady. Kun Lun smirks at him. Thinking of the face beneath that mask.

“Stop touching myself or stop making noise?” He breathes, presses down harder. “I’m sure your men will enjoy the show.” Kun Lun purrs, smirking in triumph when he sees the Black Envoy flush crimson, pressing his palm down against his bulge, making sure he hears every shameless gasp and whine. Unable to stop, he spreads his legs wider, cants his hips up. Sees the way the Black Envoy’s breath catches, and then he’s coming in a rush, mouth open.

When he comes to, the Black Envoy is barely breathing at all, his hand clamped down tight over his own mouth. His eyes glittering through his mask, wide and stunned. Kun Lun smirks at him, exhausted. The mess in his jerkin will be a nightmare when it grows cold and dries but he’s filthy anyway.

 “You really don’t get much pleasure out of doing the Dark Lord’s bidding, do you?” Kun Lun asks softly. He’s so tired he can barely keep consciousness, but he hears the echo of the Black Envoy’s – slightly unsteady, he notes with satisfaction - footsteps down the corridor, receding into the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Time passes. Kun Lun is left alone. He’s no longer dragged out of his cell to be tortured. The only footsteps that pass by his cell are those of the Black Envoy.

Sometimes the Black Envoy speaks. Token attempts to get Kun Lun to talk. Most of the time he doesn’t. Kun Lun sometimes pretends to be asleep, just to ignore him – it’s not that hard. The dark and the lack of food leave him permanently exhausted anyway. He dozes off for real just once, despite his best efforts. He wakes up to find the Black Envoy watching him. He leaves before Kun Lun can think to say a word.

It’s a while before he returns. At this point Kun Lun’s so grateful not to be alone that he’s glad to see him. He sits up, acknowledging the Black Envoy’s presence with a grin.

“I thought you’d abandoned me here, Brother Black.” Kun Lun says. He tries to make light of it, hates himself for the relief that flows through his bones, the tight knot of desperation in his belly easing at how he’s no longer alone. The Black Envoy watches him.

“Perhaps I should. Maybe this is how I can get you to talk.” Deep, and soft. Kun Lun grins, the hairs on his nape standing up at how intently the Black Envoy looks at him. There’s something hungry there, that’s swiftly hidden away when Kun Lun leans forwards to take a closer look.

“You don’t need an excuse to come watch, you know.” Kun Lun says. Smirks. “You can ask nicely. You’re not the only one getting something out of it.” He grins with glee when the Black Envoy’s cheeks visibly flush dark. He refuses to meet Kun Lun’s eyes, and Kun Lun finds curiosity nudging at him as much as amusement.

He had never expected the Black Envoy to be _shy._

The Black Envoy is silent. Kun Lun thinks he’s about to leave. Then he sees the Black Envoy lick his lips, take a deep breath.

 _Vanimelda._ He thinks. Hating himself just a little for the softness that rises in him when the Black Envoy still cannot meet his gaze.

“Why did you do it?” The Black Envoy finally asks. Kun Lun wants to laugh at how studiously he’s avoiding looking at Kun Lun’s face. He stretches out on the straw – it’s surprisingly clean, for that Kun Lun is grateful, along with the thick if exceedingly rough blanket he’d been given - pillows his head on his arm. He doesn’t miss how the Black Envoy’s gaze rakes over his body, thin and starved as he is, before settling at some point above his shoulder. He would preen, if he weren’t so exhausted.

Kun Lun shrugs. “Felt like a good idea.” He says. “You’d already done almost everything you could to my body.” All save one. The Black Envoy flushes red.

“I am _not,”_ He says heatedly. “A _beast.”_ Kun Lun smiles at him. It’s not a warm one.

“Oh, so pillaging villages and ravaging kingdoms _isn’t_ the work of lesser beings?” Kun Lun snarls. His too-long nails bite into the flesh of his palm, and the Black Envoy _flinches._ Looking stricken, and Kun Lun stares.

“Da Qing told me you used to be a Vala. So did the Dark Lord.” Kun Lun says. His voice is quiet, full of hate. “What _happened_ to you? How could you become something so monstrous?” The Black Envoy lifts his eyes up, and Kun Lun sucks in a breath when he sees how red their corners are.

The Black Envoy opens his mouth, then closes it again. Kun Lun watches him with narrowed eyes, his mind working furiously. The Black Envoy lets out a breath, turns away. Kun Lun listens to his footsteps recede, closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the bars of his cage.

\---

 

The Black Envoy visits again. This time, Kun Lun starts to talk.

He speaks of nothing of importance, nothing that Wei can use against Doriath. He tells him of the elanor and niphredil – sun-stars and snowdrops - blooming in his favourite childhood haunts, of making his mother a crown of wild roses. He does not talk about his father or their allies, but he talks about hunting fireflies in the moonlight. Of listening to the Elves singing while half-hidden in the trees of his old home in Dór-lomin. 

He speaks of his misadventures with Da Qing. The wizard had been his protector and guardian for most of his life, and Kun Lun’s stories about him are necessarily truncated to keep himself from telling the Black Envoy too much. Kun Lun does tell him about that time he and Da Qing had taken too much of the Halfling’s pipe-weed out of curiosity, to his parents’ ire. Or the time the wizard had been mistaken for a little girl’s pet that had gone missing, and Kun Lun found him all trussed up in ribbons and lace, unable to transform for fear of terrifying the poor child to death (they found the girl’s cat eventually, and Kun Lun never lets Da Qing hear the end of that incident, though he knows for a fact that the wizard had kept the lace ribbon). He tells him about the flowers blooming whenever the Elven Princess danced in the meadows, her brother playing music on the pipe, as plaintive as the nightingale’s song.

He doesn’t think the Black Envoy is listening- for anything other than possible slip-ups, that is – until the Black Envoy surprises him with a question.

“Did the little girl ever find her cat?” He asks. Kun Lun blinks at him. It takes him a moment to answer.

“Well –Yes. I explained to her that Da Qing was my magic cat, he transformed in front of her, and we spent the rest of the day looking for her pet.” Kun Lun chuckles, closes his eyes. Those green days seem so far away. “We found it hiding in a tree. Da Qing convinced him to come down. Apparently he hated having ribbons tied around his neck. I’m pretty sure Da Qing kept his, though.” He opens his eyes, catches the expression on the Black Envoy’s face, then stops. Stares.

He knows longing when he sees it. Wistfulness. Regret. Kun Lun watches him for a moment longer before speaking again.

“She survived the war.” He says softly. “Da Qing sees her when he wanders. She’s married now, has children of her own, and three more cats.” He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way the Black Envoy’s shoulders slump in relief.

The Black Envoy looks down, away. He gets to his feet – he’d taken to kneeling outside of Kun Lun’s cell, while Kun Lun lay sprawled on the straw. Kun Lun’s left staring after him as he leaves.

 

\--

 

“I want to see your face.” Kun Lun says one day. The Black Envoy's been visiting a lot more lately. Just today, Kun Lun had heard his footsteps pass by his cell twice. He finds he doesn't mind. Kun Lun likes having someone with him, here in this black hole. It keeps him from feeling like he's dissolving into nothing, alone in the dark. 

 The Black Envoy visibly balks, and Kun Lun rolls his eyes, tries to bite back his smile. He does not completely succeed. Kun Lun had woken up today to find the Black Envoy watching him - or watching over him -through the bars of his cage. He has more than enough room - and right- to gloat at the effect his teasing has. 

“If you’re the last person I’m allowed to see in this hole, I want to see more than a mask.” Kun Lun says frankly. “Anyways, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He supposes he should consider himself lucky that the Black Envoy hadn’t ordered his hand cut off the first time he knocked his mask off.

The parts of the Black Envoy's face that are visible beneath his leather half-mask flush deep, dark red. Not for the first time, Kun Lun wonders at this. This paradox of quiet innocence and unspeakable brutality. 

He doesn’t think the Black Envoy would agree to him. It had just been an idle wish, after all. The Black Envoy is still for a long moment. Then quickly, like he’s not giving himself enough time to think it through, he pushes his hood down, slips his mask off over his head. Kun Lun’s breath catches in his throat when he sees his face again.

Distantly, he remembers the stories of Telperion. The odes and poems the Elves wrote for the sake of beauty, that of the world around them and the things living in it. He’s never figured out the reasons for such need until now.

“So lovely, Brother Black.” Kun Lun says. Teasing and soft, grinning when he sees the Black Envoy blush. It’s become a favourite past-time of his these days, and he refuses to think about why that’s so. “Why do you insist on covering yourself up?” He doesn’t expect an answer. Then after a moment, the Black Envoy speaks.

“I don’t want my enemies to see my face.” The Black Envoy says quietly. Kun Lun looks at him. The sufficient food and water have given him enough strength to stand up again. The Black Envoy has to tilt his face up slightly to look him in the eye. It’s disconcerting. Kun Lun’s so used to seeing him as a shadowy armored figure across the battlefield.

“Does this mean I’m not your enemy anymore?” He asks. It’s meant to be as a joke, but the sharp intake of breath that the Black Envoy draws stops Kun Lun cold.

Kun Lun stares. The Black Envoy doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t know. Are you?” The Black Envoy’s voice is very quiet. Kun Lun stretches out his hands -the cuffs and chain fit through the gap in the bars, but barely-and before he can think better of it, cups the Black Envoy’s face.The Black Envoy gives a start, his eyes wide and full of night.

Distantly, Kun Lun notes that the sensation of the Black Envoy’s bare skin pressing against his doesn’t hurt, like this. The Black Envoy’s skin is cool and soft under his hand. He does not pull away.

“How lonely you must be,” Kun Lun says very softly. The Black Envoy does not reply. He just breathes, and Kun Lun drops his hands, lets the weight of the chain drag them down, his palms tingling where he’d touched the Black Envoy’s skin.

\---

 

Time passes.

The Black Envoy visits him, and keeps visiting. Kun Lun feels himself smiling when he hears his footsteps, equal parts relief and anticipation. The Black Envoy’s face shines like a flower in the dark without his mask. So very young. So very beautiful. Kun Lun aches to see his answering smile.

One night, Kun Lun smells something delicious waft into his cell. He scrambles up to find the Black Envoy carrying a tray. On it is a bowl of soup and bread. The broth is hot, rich beef, and the bread is fresh, just enough that he doesn’t make himself sick after so long without anything decent in his stomach. The Black Envoy had taken it to him himself, along with what appears to be a bucket of water, a washcloth, an actual piece of soap, and a change of fresh clothes. The  door of  Kun Lun’s cell unlocking without a key and he’d stared at the Black Envoy as he brought the things inside. Kun Lun’s chains fall off his wrist and he gasps as they fall to the floor with a clang.

Kun Lun had wolfed down the meal before reaching for the bucket with shaking hands. No shame in him as he strips, the Black Envoy flushing red and averting his gaze. The water is hot, and the Black Envoy refills it with a wave of his hand whenever it runs out. Kun Lun’s eyes sting as he scrubs at his face, then everywhere, rinsing out his mouth with water and spitting it out. Washing the filth of what must be months off of him, and he’s never felt more human than when he’d put on the clean clothes the Black Envoy had brought him. The skin the cuffs have rubbed raw is angry red and festering. The Black Envoy had reached for Kun Lun, as if he were about to heal him, had stopped at Kun Lun's violent flinch. The Black Envoy had fallen still, and Kun Lun had braced himself for what he was about to do. But the Black Envoy only reaches into the sleeves of his robe, takes out a small jar of ointment and a roll of bandages. Setting them beside Kun Lun before leaving his celll. He does not chain Kun Lun again. He leaves the bucket in Kun Lun's cell. When Kun Lun smears the ointment on his wrists, to his surprise the skin immediately mends itself, heals.

Now Kun Lun's leaning against the bars of his cage, watching the Black Envoy watching him from the other side. He’s drowsy and his stomach aches, but his skin is clean again, along with his hair, his beard. It’s grown irritatingly long, and Kun Lun glares at it ineffectively, wishes he could hack the damn thing off.

“Let me,” Kun Lun stiffens when the Black Envoy lifts his hand. His breath coming in short and sharp, but the Black Envoy doesn’t touch him. His fingers move, and the beard is shorn clean off, leaving on Kun Lun’s face the stubble he normally wore. 

Kun Lun forces a laugh as the Black Envoy withdraws his hand. “Brother Black,” he says. Trying not to think about how those same hands had healed him and sent him back to be tortured, all over again. “I’m grateful for the bath and the change in clothing.” The Black Envoy is avoiding his gaze again. Almost against his own will, Kun Lun reaches forwards, touches his face.

The Black Envoy’s skin is cool and smooth as it always is. Kun Lun doesn’t fail to notice how he’s practically stopped breathing. Kun Lun too, trembles. His palms gone cold, but he pushes the memory away, and his hands fall still.

 “Surely you must have some others more interesting to talk to besides me.” Kun Lun says, composing himself with his careless smile. “It’s not like I have any gossip to share down here.”

The Black Envoy does not answer. He doesn’t even look at Kun Lun until Kun Lun huffs, tilts his face up with his fingers under his chin.

“Hey.” Kun Lun says. His thumb presses against the Black Envoy’s bottom lip before he can think better of it, running against the length of it. Soft and yielding under his touch, and Kun Lun inhales with wonder when he sees the desire suffusing the Black Envoy’s face.

The answering heat of his own want flickers and burns as the Black Envoy lets out a shaky exhale, presses his face against Kun Lun’s palm, eyes slipping halfway shut. Nothing hurts when he touches the Black Envoy like this, and Kun Lun licks his lips. Gently coaxing the Black Envoy to take a step closer with the hand on his cheek, tilting his face up as Kun Lun leans forwards.

The bars of his cell offer just enough space for him to kiss the Black Envoy, soft on the lips. The Black Envoy sucks in a sharp gasp, and Kun Lun takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between his lips. Exploring his mouth with a tender thoroughness that leaves the breath in the Black Envoy shuddering. The Black Envoy responds, shy and clearly inexperienced. Sweet, and kissing him is nothing and everything like Kun Lun expected.

Then the Black Envoy pulls away.  Kun Lun lets him go, reluctant. Startled, more than anything else, by how bright the Black Envoy’s eyes shine.

“No.” The Black Envoy’s voice is barely audible. “Not like this. You do not owe me this.” He says. He glances up, just out of Kun Lun’s reach. His lips are kiss-swollen and pink. In his eyes is ineffable regret. Remorse.

“Brother Black.” Kun Lun starts, stops when the Black Envoy shakes his head.

“My name is Wei.” He says. Kun Lun stares. The Black Envoy drops his gaze. He leaves, footsteps echoing in the stone walls of the dungeon.

 


	3. Chapter 3

“Wei,” Kun Lun says it out loud the next time the Black Envoy visits. “What characters?” The Black Envoy visibly hesitates. He’s brought more food, a fresh change of clothing, and water. Turning away and leaving his cell when Kun Lun strips in front of him, shameless. Wei’s cheeks blush red as he sits outside Kun Lun’s cell. He only turns back when Kun Lun says he’s done with his ablutions, sitting down outside of it. Close enough for Kun Lun to reach for him, but with the iron bars between them, keeping them apart.

Kun Lun’s hands ache to touch him. His mouth _burns_ to taste Wei again. But Kun Lun does know patience, so he waits.

“The character for rock and stone.” Wei answers softly. Kun Lun grins.

“Wei.” He says, letting the word come out as a tender caress. He can see the Black Envoy – Wei - forcing himself to hold his gaze. He wonders how long it’s been since Wei allowed anyone else to use it.

“It’s a good name, but such a beauty should have a name better-suited to your glory.” Kun Lun says, and Wei scoffs.

“You play the charmer and yet you criticize my name.” He says wryly. Kun Lun’s grin widens.

“So you do know I’m trying to charm you.” Wei blinks at him, then realizes the trap he’d fallen into. Kun Lun laughs at how deep his flush gets. Wei glares at him half-heartedly, turns his face away. And Kun Lun cannot resist. Wei freezes when he feels fingers touch his chin. Tilting his face up, and Kun Lun ignores how the sensation of Wei’s skin sends a frisson of not entirely pleasant tension up his spine.

“Wei. Wei. _Xiao_ Wei.” Wei is frozen, unable to move. Kun Lun looks at him. Something quiet and very tender growing inside him where he knows it shouldn’t be.

“You’re graceful and regal. As elegant as the trees in this forest, as lofty as the mountains surrounding us.” Kun Lun says. Wei stops breathing, and Kun Lun traces his thumb against his cheek.

“Why not use the character for that?” Kun Lun asks. Wei is silent. He stubbornly keeps his eyes lowered as Kun Lun leans forwards, lips tauntingly, teasingly close to his.

“I need to go.” Wei says abruptly. He pulls free, glancing at Kun Lun one last time before he turns away. Kun Lun drops the hand that touched Wei, letting it hang between the bars.

 

\---

 

Wei returns during the next intervals, carrying food and clothing and refilling Kun Lun’s wash bucket as needed. The food is actually good, now that Kun Lun can stomach something more than broth and bread again. His meals are simple but satisfying, and when Kun Lun offhandedly remarks he misses the taste of sweet things, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that included in his next tray is a piece of golden honeycomb.

“You’re spoiling me, Xiao Wei.” Kun Lun grins at Wei, pronounces his name the way he had suggested. Wei blushes, but he does not correct him, or tell him to stop. He studiously does not look at Kun Lun when Kun Lun tucks into the honeycomb after his meal, the rich sweetness filling his mouth and making him want to weep. Of course, this just makes Kun Lun wait for the opportune moment to lick his lips in satisfaction, gleefully noticing how Wei turns red all the way to his ears, and how he shifts uneasily in his seat outside Kun Lun’s prison.

Kun Lun smacks his lips, sighs in satisfaction. “Honey from Ossiriand. There are orchards there that keep bees, and the honey the bees produce end up tasting a little like the fruit the farmers grow.  Has your army penetrated that far West? Or did your soldiers raid a few merchant caravans along the way?” Kun Lun doesn’t mean to make his voice go hard and cold, but he’s desperate for news. He feels regret twinge in his chest when Wei looks up, eyes cool and flat.

“It came from merchants. Angband does exercise trade, you know.” He says nothing else, as tight-lipped about his territory’s secrets as Kun Lun is about Doriath, and Kun Lun tilts his head.

“My apologies.” He says. But the wary tension doesn’t flood out of Wei. Kun Lun holds his gaze. Wei’s expression is cold and remote - more like the Black Envoy’s than it has been in possibly weeks. Kun Lun masters  the silent rush of dread, breathes out and releases it.

“You confuse me.” Kun Lun says quietly. Wei does not blink, but Kun Lun feels himself ease as his expression softens, just a little.

“Oh?” Wei asks. Kun Lun stares at him frankly.

“You tortured me endlessly for I don’t know how long, but must have been close to half a year straight.” Kun Lun says. And there. There it is, that shame and remorse, flickering in Wei’s eyes and expression now that he no longer has a mask to hide it. “And then you stopped, even though you haven’t gotten the answer you wanted.” Kun Lun crawls forward on his knees. He reaches through the bars, grasps Wei’s shoulder before he can draw back.  Wei glances at his hand, then at him. 

“You feed me out of your own table.” Kun Lun says. He smiles a little when Wei starts. He isn’t, to Kun Lun’s surprise, wearing armor under his cloak. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed – I’m sure I’m eating the same things you are. The food is too fine to be otherwise.” The conflict that crosses Wei’s face tells Kun Lun it’s true. He gives his shoulder a squeeze, decides to throw caution to the wind.

“You keep me company even though I’m sure you’ve seen how I fall apart more if I’m alone.” Kun Lun says, smiling faintly. “At first I thought you were planning something – I know Angband’s tactics well enough. And maybe you were, but now…”

“Kun Lun…” Wei trails off. Kun Lun slides his hand up his shoulder to the side of his neck. Stroking his thumb gently at the back of it, and Wei’s mouth falls open. He closes it quickly again, but not before Kun Lun feels the heat that travels up his nape.

“You could have me eating out the palm of your hand.” Kun Lun says, voice gentle. “You could have had me raped. Could have done it yourself, or had one of your men do it. Or maimed me. Broken me completely until there was nothing left. You didn’t.” At this, Wei inhales a shaky breath.

“I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” Wei says. His voice is so faint Kun Lun has to strain to hear him. “I remember seeing you when you were a child. You were so young, and so scared. I had orders to kill you and your mother, but you looked at me and I couldn’t do it. I was so happy when I heard you escaped.” He falls silent. And then he makes a move, tries to get up. Kun Lun digs his fingers into his shoulders.

“Don’t.” Kun Lun says, voice gone sharp and desperate. Wei stares. Kun Lun closes his eyes, sees Dór-lomin again. Burning behind his eyelids.

 “Don’t leave. Please.” He says. His throat feels raw, and as he tries to breathe he can feel that familiar burn when he blinks. Wei does not move, not even to dislodge Kun Lun’s vice grip from his shoulders.

“I don’t want to be alone, and neither do you _.”_ Wei’s eyes are ancient and knowing and full of exhaustion, of grief. He does not deny Kun Lun’s words. Kun Lun squeezes his shoulders again, throat aching too much to talk.

“Stay with me for a while.” He finally says. “Until I fall asleep.” Wei nods.

“All right.” He whispers. Only then does Kun Lun let go of Wei. He lies down in his cell, suddenly drained. Covers himself with the blanket, keeping Wei in his line of sight. Wei does not move from his spot. Kun Lun closes his eyes. When he opens them again, it’s hours later, and Wei is gone. But in front of him is a plate with another piece of honeycomb on it. Kun Lun looks at it for a very long moment before reaching forwards. He finishes it in several bites, holding the taste of it in his mouth until Wei comes back.

 

 ---

 

Wei returns. He stays now, until Kun Lun falls asleep. One time Kun Lun wakes to find Wei too, has fallen asleep. Curled up on the floor outside of his cell with his head pillowed on his arm, and Kun Lun had watched the peaceful rise and fall of his chest, feeling something full of quiet yearning inside him crack open.

When Wei wakes up, it’s to Kun Lun’s fingers stroking through his hair. The two of them stare at each other through the bars of Kun Lun’s cage. Neither of them speak, but Wei does not draw back or push Kun Lun’s hand away. Neither does Kun Lun stop combing his fingers through his hair. Wei’s hair is as silky as Kun Lun always thought it would be, and his smile is soft like the edges of dawn creeping over the darkest winter morning.

Time passes. Things continue in this tender, quiet stalemate of sorts. And then one visit, Wei brings a small stash of small loaves of bread wrapped in leaves.

“ _Lembas_ bread.” Kun Lun says. His mouth goes dry, and he feels ill. “Where-“

“Elf scout party.” Wei says briefly. “They attacked an orc camp under my control.” Kun Lun nods. He’s no stranger to robbing corpses. Robbing elf corpses was more lucrative than most, given the quality of their weaponry and the valuables they carried. “Orcs can’t eat _lembas_ , but I decided you could make use of it when you can.”

“Food is food.” Kun Lun forces himself to say. “From where did the Elves come from?” Wei’s eyes soften.

“Not Doriath.” He says. Kun Lun breathes out in relief. “I’m sorry. I will be gone for a while, and Ye Zun.” He falls silent. Kun Lun fills it in for him in his mind.

“… The Dark Lord doesn’t know what you’ve been doing here, has he?” Kun Lun asks. Wei drops his gaze. He looks. Nervous. Like he’s trying to hide some unpalatable truth. Kun Lun looks at him, but Wei refuses to meet his eyes.

“I may not be able to bring you food for a while.” He finally says. “I need to find a trustworthy servant to handle your needs.” Kun Lun reaches out with both hands, cups his face between his palms, and Wei falls silent.

“What about you?” He asks, voice low. Worried. Wei’s eyes are wide, staring up at him in surprise. Kun Lun can’t help but wonder – has anyone ever worried about him before? Cared enough to show him their concern?

“Tol-in- Gaurhauth is my territory.” Wei says. “But my brother has eyes and ears everywhere. Not all my forces can be trusted.” He snaps his mouth shut. Kun Lun stares at him, because for sure Wei has let slip more than he ought to have done. But that pales in comparison to the churning in his gut at the realization of what a great risk Wei was taking. Keeping him here, keeping him fed and warm and free of pain. 

“Brother?” He asks. Wei looks at him. He nods.

“His name was Ye Zun,” he says quietly. Kun Lun is silent. There’s love there, in the way Wei speaks the Dark Lord’s true name. Kun Lun slides one hand down, laces his fingers with Wei’s gloved ones without letting himself think too hard.  Their palms press together, leather sliding against bare skin, and it does not hurt.

“I understand.” Kun Lun says at length. He’s a soldier, he’s not about to let perfectly good rations go to waste. No matter how much the thought of where they come from makes him want to throw up. 

“Stay safe, Xiao Wei.” He says. Wei just looks at him again, with those eyes of his. Kun Lun drops his hands, watches him go.

He finds it difficult to sleep after that. There are fourteen pieces of _lembas_. Wei is gone for that same number. During that whole time the only food shoved into Kun Lun’s cell is moldy bread and water, taken to him by a surly orc. Kun Lun forces himself to eat it to not arose suspicion, choking it down with a bite of _lembas_. They taste good but they make him feel sick. He feels so homesick that it hurts. And. He misses Wei. His quiet smile and the gentleness in his gaze, the strange burgeoning thing that was growing between them.

Kun Lun’s just staring at the last few crumbs and glumly contemplating he should have spaced the _lembas_ out more, and wrestling with the relief that he doesn’t have to eat them again when they come for him.

He’s woken by shouts. An orc breaks into his cell, snarling, but Kun Lun manages to take it out with a blow to the neck. Unfortunately there’s another, and another, and Kun Lun’s tired.

He collapses to his knees, and he’s dragged off back to the torture chamber, clapped back in irons.

“Where’s Brother-“ He just has enough presence of mind to understand how secret Wei’s name must be. And then there is nothing but pain, pain, pain.

He blacks out when his right knee is crushed after his left. He wakes up back in his cell, shivering, everything in his body mended. His head is on Wei’s lap. Wei’s face is ashen pale. He reeks of smoke. He’s still dressed in armor instead of his usual silk robes, the mithril blackened from soot and crusted with dried blood

“Forgive me,” he whispers, as Kun Lun scrabbles away, nauseous, full of fury and seething _hurt._ “Ye Zun- he lost a battle to your mother’s forces. I was out on the field, I didn’t know.” Kun Lun lets out a hollow laugh as he struggles up, slapping Wei’s hands away when they make an aborted movement towards him and breathing hard. 

“Am I supposed to feel better that you didn’t know, that you were out there slaughtering my friends and family?” He snarls. Wei flinches. Kun Lun doesn’t bother keeping his voice down. Wei had told him before that they were in the deepest part of the dungeons. That here, no one could hear them speak.

“Forgive me.” Wei whispers again. Kun Lun looks at him, furious. The same familiar _hate_ curling in his chest like a poisoned vine.

“You don’t deserve it.” He spits out. “You deserve _nothing._ Damn you, how could I have ever thought –“ He stops, breath catching. The memory of Wei’s hand in his burning him, and he’s thinking of how he would like nothing more than to scorch his own skin off along with the memory.

He doesn’t even notice how that hand has closed around Wei’s throat, or that his fingers are digging into the pale curve of his flesh above his gorget. He shoves Wei against the wall, the back of his head striking the stone with a grunt, fingers  pressing down and doing his utter damnedest to crush that white throat and Kun Lun knows it’s laughable, the good this’ll do to an immortal, ageless Vala who has seen the creation of the world, and likely end it in flame and ice. But Wei doesn’t pry Kun Lun’s fingers off like twigs, he does not even try to shove Kun Lun away like the rag doll he must be in comparison. He lets Kun Lun pin him up against the wall. Kun Lun feels him trying to breathe. He tightens his grip.

“Do what you will to me.” Wei says. Kun Lun’s breath stutters. Wei’s voice is barely audible, the words spoken with the last remaining breath in his lungs. “I will not refuse it.” He does not look up.

Wei keeps his head inclined. His hands are loose at his sides. Kun Lun can feel how hard his pulse beats, in his neck. _Do what you will to me._ It has to be a trap. There’s no way the Black Envoy would allow himself to be demeaned like this. _I will not refuse it._ But then Kun Lun remembers the sack of Dór-lomin. His mother’s tears. His father suffering Eru-knew-what, imprisoned. The fucking _lembas_ and where it came from _._ His own torture under Wei’s hands. 

If this is a fucking trap, then he’s going to make sure he’s not the only one it devours whole.

Kun Lun releases Wei, yanks him forward by the hair and kisses him hard on the mouth. Wei gasps, then moans as Kun Lun bites down hard on his lip. Wei shudders against him, but does not pull away. Just opens his mouth, lets him in.

This time the pleasure isn’t slow-burning desperation to feel anything besides pain. This time it’s wildfire, leaping in his skin like vengeance, like hate. Kun Lun bites Wei’s lip hard enough to draw blood the same spot he’d done before. Wei gasping in pain, and Kun Lun breaks the kiss.

Wei’s armor is light but of a close make, and he is silent as he allows Yunlan to strip him, to throw it into a pile. Wei’s tunic and jerkin fall to his feet as Kun Lun shoves them down, and Wei does not resist as Kun Lun pushes him down onto the cold floor, his body white and vulnerable. Unprotected. His body is lean and muscular, but his shoulders once revealed are startlingly narrow and his waist is slender. Kun Lun kisses him again, and Wei inhales, kissing him clumsily back. Kun Lun pulls away, his mouth wet. Lust and pleasure mingle in his veins, but there’s something else there. Something gentler, sliding past his ribs into his heart as surely as the blade of a knife.

 “Have you ever had a man?” Kun Lun asks, sharper than he intended. Wei stares at him. His cheeks are flushed and his hands are curled into fists at either side of him, wrists pinned to the ground by Kun Lun. His skin is cold, so cold, and he trembles, shaking his head. Something in Kun Lun softens in spite of himself. 

 _Brutality and innocence._ He thinks again. Kun Lun kisses Wei, nipping at his mouth and presses kisses against his cheek. Wei responds, as hesitant and as shy as he did the last time, and Kun Lun feels the heat pooling low in his belly. He breaks the kiss before it can go lower, tracing his tongue against Wei’s lips. Licking the blood that has dripped down his chin.

Wei’s eyes are wide and very dark, red at the corners. His lashes are long and brush against Kun Lun’s thumb as he blinks. He’s trembling again, and Kun Lun feels a lump in his throat. He can take Wei like this, do whatever he wants to him, and he knows that for all his power, Wei will not resist, will not protest no matter how much it hurt. Kun Lun also knows in himself that no matter what Wei had done to him, he himself is not capable of the kind of cruelty Wei expects as his punishment.

 _You don’t owe me this._ He remembers Wei telling him. His chest clenches.

 _I couldn’t bring myself to do it._ As Kun Lun looks down at Wei, beneath him, he makes his decision. Leaning down, he brushes his lips against Wei’s forehead in the gentlest of kisses.

“I will not hurt you.” He whispers, then sits up, tugs Wei into his arms. Hand resting gentle on the back of his neck as he kisses Wei, in stark contrast to what he’d done before. Kun Lun strokes the reddened line of Wei’s throat, pulling away and mouthing kisses against it, then up along his jawline, back to his mouth. Feeling Wei harden against him, his own desire to _take_ burning between his legs.  

Wei kisses back. His mouth wet and  his eyes hungry and bewildered as Kun Lun cups his jaw between his hands. Holding him for a moment before letting go, pushing him down again. Pulling his shirt up over his head and his jerkin down, tossing them into the same pile he’d thrown Wei’s clothing and armor in. Naked, he crawls between Wei’s legs, pushing his knees apart – the inside of his thighs like the smoothest of silks -before leaning down to cover Wei’s body with his own. Kissing a trail down his chest, and Wei jerks as Kun Lun takes a nipple in his mouth, plays with the other.

“Kun Lun…” It’s a raspy whisper. Kun Lun feels regret wash over him anew. Wei’s hands spasm on either side of him, but he doesn’t lift them up. He doesn’t try to touch Kun Lun. For that, Kun Lun is grateful.

As he leans down to kiss Wei he presses their lengths together, careful. Wei jerks up, gasping. Kun Lun holds him down with one hand. The bottle of ointment Wei had left him is hidden under a small pile of straw, just within reaching distance. Kun Lun grabs it with one hand, then has to stop himself from laughing at the look of adorable confusion on Wei’s face.

“Why-“ He actually looks _worried._ Kun Lun grins, rubs the tips of their noses together. Teasing and gentle, until Wei relaxes again.

“It’ll feel good, I promise.” He uncorks the bottle, pours some of into his hand. Sometimes, one needed to make improvisations. Wei looks wary but that melts away in a gasp when Kun Lun reaches down, grasps their lengths together.

“I already told you: I will not hurt you.” He reminds Wei gently. Wei gasps as Kun Lun begins to stroke up and down. Kissing him, rocking against him. The added lubrication making their lengths glide easily together, and Wei’s mouth falls open and his breaths come out, soft and fast.

Wei’s keeps his hands balled into fists, not allowing himself to touch Kun Lun. The look in his eyes pleading and Kun Lun wishes more than anything else that he could assuage the longing, the hurt, the guilt he finds there.

“Hey. It’s all right.” Kun Lun whispers. “Don’t be sad.” He thrusts shallowly , and Wei moans. Delicious friction, and Kun Lun presses kisses against his neck and shoulders.

“Turn around.” He commands, touching the curve of Wei’s hip. Wei obeys, and Kun Lun marvels at the weight of Wei’s trust as he turns his back towards him. Kun Lun grasping his hips as he lines himself up. He cannot enter Wei, not without hurting him, he’s too new at this. But Kun Lun has another idea in mind.

“Put your thighs together.” Kun Lun brushes a kiss against Wei’s neck. Wei follows, and Kun Lun sucks in a breath as he thrusts into the juncture of Wei’s thighs. Brushing against his taint and the underside of his balls, and Wei shudders in his arms, eyes wide as he turns to Kun Lun. Kun Lun grins at him, kisses the side of his neck.

“Relax.” He whispers. He pulls back, thrusts again. The inside of Wei’s thighs is like warm silk. The rest of his skin remains cool, but has become damp with sweat. Wei moans. His shivering does not let up. Kun Lun kisses his shoulders, everywhere he can reach.  Wrapping his arms tight around Wei’s torso when he remembers the touch of Wei’s skin as he healed him.

It does not hurt. This does not hurt. Kun Lun fiercely tries to force his body to forget the memories as he cradles Wei in his arms.

Wei is leaking. So is he, this in addition to the ointment allows Kun Lun to glide in and out of the cradle of Wei’s thighs, feeling Wei’s gasp reverberate against him as he brushes against his balls, his cock. Kun Lun picks up the pace, steady and tender. His hands grasping Wei’s hips. Soon enough he feels the tell-tale heat about to consume him, building and building.

“Kun Lun, I’m-“ Wei’s voice breaks when Kun Lun reaches down, grasps him in one hand, and Wei twists back, turning his head to look at Kun Lun. Kun Lun catches the expression on his face as he spills all over his stomach. Wei’s is seed so hot that Kun Lun hisses when it touches his skin, and seconds later Kun Lun follows him, emptying himself between Wei’s thighs.

Wei’s eyes are big and black and dark. His breath is sharp and uneven. Stunned, disbelieving, and Kun Lun doesn’t break his stare as pulls out. He’s tired, exhausted to the bone, and he doesn’t so much as lie down as collapse beside Wei, still keeping him wrapped in his arms. Wei looks away first, breath hitching. Kun Lun allows him a moment to collect himself. And then he feels it. The telltale tremor, starting from his shoulders and gradually encapsulating his whole body, as Kun Lun keeps his lips pressed against the back of Wei’s neck and holds him tight.

It’s a long time before Wei’s tremors subside. Before Wei falls still in Kun Lun’s grasp. When he finally does, Kun Lun wordlessly sits up, pulling him back into his arms before his breath hitches with the loss. Wrapping Wei and himself in his thick, scratchy blanket, sheltering them both from the cold. Kun Lun strokes his flank when his trembling starts up again, until the rigid line of his spine eases and he sinks against Kun Lun, his face wet.

 

\---

 

He doesn’t know how long they remain like that. Wei huddled in Kun Lun’s arms while Kun Lun slides his hand up and down his spine, tugging gently at the ends of his hair. Wei keeps his hands loose and open by his sides. He does not try to touch Kun Lun – not after he saw Kun Lun’s barely-contained flinch when he reached for him.

From time to time Kun Lun leans down to catch Wei’s lips in a kiss. Wei kisses back with his own quiet fire, but neither of them push for more than that. They’re both far too exhausted.

Kun Lun only stirs when Wei does. “I am being summoned.” Wei whispers. He does not need to say out loud who is summoning him. For a moment Kun Lun’s arms tighten around him. Unwilling to let him go.

“Kun Lun,” Wei’s voice is soft. His kiss is gentle against Kun Lun’s cheek. Kun Lun turns, nuzzles his lips against his. Helps him up. Wei winces at the mess between his legs, and makes a gesture with his fingers. Kun Lun blinks when he finds they’re both clean again.

“… That’s convenient.” He says, grinning. It stretches wider when Wei blushes, biting back a startlingly sweet smile. Kun Lun is almost disappointed – he’d wanted to help Wei clean himself off, but Wei’s quiet request to help him dress assuages it.

 Kun Lun helps Wei into his armor like the most devoted squire, and when he’s done he touches Wei’s face.

“Will you be safe?” Kun Lun asks. Wei stares at him. His face is young but his eyes are old, tired, and full of grief. Cradling his face in his hands, Kun Lun now understands why Wei wears a mask.

“I know how to handle my brother.” Wei says briefly. When Kun Lun does not let go, he hesitantly reaches up. Kun Lun forces himself to be still as Wei hesitantly gives his wrists a squeeze.

“It’s not for myself I’m worried. I will not let him harm you again. You are mine.” Kun Lun starts in surprise, and Wei smiles at him briefly. Even that is tired. Wei puts on his cloak, and his mask. Kun Lun had noticed Wei had discarded them before he’d woken up.   

As Wei leaves the cell, he hesitates. Holding out his hand, and Kun Lun hears his cell door lock by itself, without need of a key. As Kun Lun sets his hand on the metal, he feels the unmistakeable thrum of power. Wei’s power, ensuring nothing and no one would open the door but him.

Kun Lun smiles at him, reaches between the bars to brush his fingers against the back of Wei’s hand through his gauntlet. The metal is cold beneath Kun Lun’s fingertips. He wishes he could hold Wei’s hand. To know how capable he is of touching Kun Lun with no pain.

“I’ll be waiting.” He whispers. Wei looks at him for one moment, a quietly unreadable expression on his face, his fingers twitching like he has to stop himself from twining them with Kun Lun’s. Kun Lun watches him go, a dark shape growing smaller and smaller until he can see him no longer.


	4. Chapter 4

Wei returns. He keeps returning. Kun Lun gets used to the weight and feel of him in his arms, the brush of his skin beside his. His soft gasps and cries as Kun Lun explores his body as thoroughly as he can. When Wei’s touch brings forth a memory he’d rather not remember, Kun Lun is quick to distract himself with a kiss. The memory recedes like shadows, only present in Wei’s eyes.

The new, elderly orc who gives him his food gives him a strange look when he serves him. Kun Lun stares back evenly, slightly marvelling at the age this orc had reached. It’s so rare that they’re not killed in battle, especially as Wei had told him this orc was one of his most trusted lieutenants.

“What spell have you put on the Black Envoy?” He demands. “He tore apart the orcs that Lord Ye Zun sent to torture you, made examples of them so that they know who they should be loyal to.” A child runs up Kun Lun’s spine when he hears that, but he forces a smile on his face.

“Nothing that Old Brother Black didn’t do out of his own volition. I’m not a Wizard who has spells up his sleeve.” He says. The orc glowers at him out of suspicion. He shoves the tray beneath the door with more force than necessary.

“The Black Envoy saved my son during an ambush by Elves.” The orc says “When he could just as easily have let them pick us off. He values our lives, and we value his. If you do a single thing to destroy him, his soldiers will make what was done to you here feel like a picnic, understand?” Kun Lun drops his smile.

“I will not hurt him.” He says seriously. The old orc narrows his eyes in suspicion, but leaves without saying anything else. Kun Lun leans back against the wall of his cell. Waiting for Wei.

Wei talks now. He and Kun Lun share stories as they lie in each other’s arms, sometimes spent with lovemaking, sometimes even before one of them makes a move to kiss the other. Kun Lun’s stroke gentle down Wei’s hair as he talks. He talks about the creation of the world, about Eru Iluvatar and the Valar who sang the world into being. When Kun Lun asks, Wei sings to him the songs that were sung at the birth of Arda. They’re strange yet somehow familiar. Like half-forgotten lullabies, and as Kun Lun drifts off to Wei’s low voice he thinks he feels his own blood and bones, remembering what his mind cannot.

Wei also talks about Valinor. It’s halting at first. Hesitant. A subject Wei has not been able to talk about for thousands of years. He talks about the songs of the Valar and the Eldar, about the light of Telperion and Laurelin, forebearers of the sun and the moon, of whose light the three holy jewels made by the Elves – the silmarils – were made, imbuing their wielders with dreadful power. In his voice Kun Lun can hear his own longing for Dór-lomin, his father’s kingdom. His own loss, when Wei spoke about the destruction of the Trees, and his flight from paradise with Ye Zun. His younger brother, who he had protected all his life.  

“You did it for him, didn’t you?” Kun Lun asks Wei. Wei’s skin glows golden under torchlight. Kun Lun wants more than anything else to see it under the light of the sun, or the moon and stars. How beautiful he must have looked, standing under the light of the Trees. How beautiful he is now, when quiet, simple joy suffuses his face whenever he and Kun Lun are together. “Everything you do, you do to protect your little brother.” Wei smiles. A shadow of the gentle smile Kun Lun was finally admitting to himself he always wants to see on Wei’s face.

“Why did you suffer torture at my hands when you could’ve broken?” Wei asks. “For your parents, for Doriath. It’s the same thing.” Kun Lun is silent. Then he kisses Wei. Wei kisses back hesitantly –Kun Lun can still taste himself on Wei’s tongue – honey, and the salt of his own seed from how he’d guided Wei into taking him into his mouth. The hesitation melts away when Kun Lun deepens their kiss, hungry for more.

Kun Lun breaks the kiss first, leaning their foreheads together. Wei’s lips are swollen from being kissed and more, his eyes luminous. Again, Kun Lun wonders how such a creature could be responsible for breaking the world yet still somehow remain so innocent.

“Will you ever set me free, Xiao Wei?” He finds himself asking. Wei reaches forward to tuck Kun Lun’s hair behind his ear, and Kun Lun freezes. Instinct flaring up at the memory of Wei’s touch. Wei draws back, slow. His eyes heavy with remorse but Kun Lun reaches forwards, wrapping him tightly in his arms as he chases the memory away with his mouth and lips.

Wei speaks when he can breathe again. “Given a choice I will keep you here with me, for always.” He whispers, leaning his forehead against Kun Lun’s. “When you get out they will make you fight their wars again. You will know more pain, more suffering.” His hands clench at his sides. He buries his face against Kun Lun’s shoulder. “You will die. And wherever you go after…”  Kun Lun holds him as he trails off.  

“That choice isn’t yours to make for me.” Kun Lun says gently, the longing for sunlight, for clean fresh air, for flowers and fireflies and living things as sharp and bitter as starvation, eating him from the inside out. Wei does not look up, but he clings tighter to Kun Lun.  They don’t speak for the rest of that visit, but as Wei comes he wraps his legs around Kun Lun’s waist, and Kun Lun cradles him close. Unable to bring themselves to let go.

\--

Wei lingers for longer, after that visit. Kun Lun holds him, plays with his hair. But his mind is cast adrift, elsewhere. In the forests of Ossiriand and the waters of the Havens. In the moonlight falling on Doriath or the memories of sunlight shining in Dór-lomin.  And his mind keeps drifting ever afterwards. He speaks of them, sometimes losing himself in his own stories when Wei is there, and though Kun Lun always catches himself, he cannot fool himself into ignoring the truth. Neither, he knows, can Wei.

Wei still tries, for a while. Bringing him things from the outside. Flowers and river stones. But as Kun Lun holds the flowers all he can see are their cut stems. Their browning petals and withered leaves. And he wishes he didn’t – he sees how it hurts Wei. But he knows to lie about his happiness would be the even worse hurt, after a while.

“I understand.” Wei tells him one visit. Kun Lun has his arms around his waist. His mind is racing along a river he used to swim in during his childhood – or was it his adulthood? He can’t remember anymore. Time has blurred into the murk and dark of this place, and he can no longer tell the difference between the past and what was yet to come.

“What do you mean?” Kun Lun asks at length. He feels the soft pressure of Wei’s kiss against the crown of his head. Wei does not answer. But during the next visit - when Wei arrives in Kun Lun’s cell, his face white - Kun Lun knows a choice has been made for him.

“Xiao Wei? What happened?” Dread twists in Kun Lun’s belly. Wei unlocks the cell, steps in. Leaning heavily against Kun Lun, so tired that his knees give out beneath him the moment Kun Lun takes him into his arms.

“Wei!” Kun Lun cries out. Wei silences him with a kiss. His eyes are wild, but very, very clear. He smells of blood. His face is marked by exhaustion.

“Xiao Wei,” Kun Lun says as he breaks the kiss, fighting to keep his voice even. “What did you do?” _What did Ye Zun make you do?_ Wei clutches at Kun Lun’s shirt, bleeding, and when Kun Lun wrenches them free he sees they’ve been burned, the skin raw and red, the top layer blackened, scorched off his palms and fingers. Kun Lun stares, then curses. Hurriedly propping Wei up against the wall and grabbing for the ointment under his straw pallet. 

“He didn’t make me do anything.” Wei says at last. He swallows. “I did something I should have done, long ago. Before it all came to this.” Kun Lun tucks him against his side, even more worried now. Wei holds out his hands, and the Kun Lun’s shake as he pours all the ointment left over Wei’s hands. As he spreads the ointment over Wei’s burns with gentle, unsteady fingers, he realizes that this is the first time he’s touched Wei’s bare hands.

Wei’s eyes are full of light as Kun Lun works. He shoves aside the sudden strange urge to look away, cursing when he holds Wei’s hands up and sees the skin isn’t healing. “What happened?” He asks tersely. Wei’s answer is another kiss.

It’s hungry and frantic and desperate, but somehow yielding all at once.  Kissing him, Kun Lun shoves all his questions at the back of his mind. Those can wait. Wei needs this more. He keeps his hand gentle as he cups the back of Wei’s head, kissing him slow and tender. Soothing him until his trembling stops. Until he’s gasping into Kun Lun’s mouth.

“Kun Lun,” Wei whispers. His big eyes are pleading, red at the corners. Kun Lun kisses their lids. Then his wrists. Wondering what terrible thing could burn the skin off a Vala.

“Ssshh. It’s all right.” He murmurs, still gentle as he settles him on the floor. He undoes the ties of Wei’s robes, tugging them open. Wei’s breath fraught with longing as Kun Lun undoes his own jerkin. Kun Lun yanking it down as he crawls between Wei’s spread legs. His skin is cool, and it does not hurt to touch him. To press their bodies together.

Wei is already erect. At the sight of it Kun Lun feels himself harden completely, too, and as he leans down to kiss Wei he presses their lengths together, careful. Wei jerks up, gasping. Kun Lun holds him down with one hand.

“Kun Lun,” Wei licks his lips. There’s a thread of desperation laced tight in his voice, and at the sound of it Kun Lun feels his skin prickle. “I. I want you.” Wei’s voice drops to a bare whisper. Almost a plea. Kun Lun stares at him seriously, his hand on Wei’s heaving chest.

“All right.” Kun Lun says, his voice just as soft. “If you want me, then you’ll get me.” He doesn’t think he’s imagining the relief in Wei’s eyes.

Kun Lun strips. Wei watches him. Hungry, but there’s grief in his gaze. A terrible sorrow that makes Kun Lun’s hands tremble when he starts to touch Wei. Wei breathes in a shuddering gasp, spreads his legs wider.

 “Kun Lun,” Wei whispers. Kun Lun shushes him with a kiss to his flank, then lower. All the way down the soft silk of his thighs. Spreading him apart and taking him into his mouth. Wei is quiet. Soothed, mouth falling open as Kun Lun’s tongue flicks at his tip, then swallows him down. Kun Lun playing with Wei’s balls as his head bobs up and down. When Wei had done this for Kun Lun, he’d choked and spluttered before pulling off, red-faced with embarrassment as Kun Lun ran fingers through his hair, assuring him he did well. He’d guided Wei throughout the whole thing during his next try, hands gentle in his hair, on his cheek. Now Wei does the same with him, directing him to what feels good. Wei trembling as Kun Lun reaches between his legs with ointment-slick fingers.

Wei is tight. Not so much as before – Kun Lun has gotten him accustomed to the feel and weight of his fingers stretching him open. The first time he’d done it, Wei had jerked in discomfort as Kun Lun sank one oil-coated finger into him, bidding him to relax. Gently- very gently pushing deeper when he does, and Wei had shivered, letting out a cry when Kun Lun had found what he was looking for. The second and third time, Kun Lun had added one finger, and another. Preparing him, easing his way in as Wei squirmed and sighed. Now, Wei thrusts down on his fingers as Kun Lun opens him up. Kun Lun laves one final lick on the tip of Wei’s cock, pulls away.

“Are you ready?” Kun Lun asks, his voice raw as he leans down, brushes his mouth against Wei’s ear. Wei is silent, just nods. Kun Lun’s hand trembles as he smears the last of the ointment over his cock. Lining himself up against Wei’s twitching rim, and pushes in.

It’s a smooth glide in. Wei’s cry is a raw, hollowed-out thing, silenced by Kun Lun’s kiss, and Kun Lun almost curses with how _tight_ Wei still is. Enveloping him, and Kun Lun’s teeth catch on Wei’s shoulder as he sheathes himself completely inside him, balls pressed against his rim. Wei lets out something that’s almost like a sob and clenches around Kun Lun.

“Xiao Wei,” Kun Lun pants, nuzzling against Wei’s silken hair. “I can’t- let me move. Please.” He drops kisses against Wei’s cheeks and forehead. Wei lets out a breath, and relaxes. Kun Lun sighs at the pressure easing, strokes Wei’s forehead, and starts to thrust.

Wei’s eyes are wet. When Kun Lun thrusts inside him as deep as he can go, the moisture trembles and brims over, spilling down his cheeks. Kun Lun  remembers with a jolt the first time Wei put himself in Kun Lun’s hands. Expecting pain, and Kun Lun refused to give it to him. Kun Lun has tasted Wei – his pleasure, his trust, his loneliness, his adoration, his longing - in so many different ways, and Wei has done the same. As Kun Lun pumps in and out of Wei’s heat, he feels his own eyes getting wet.

“What’s wrong?” Kun Lun gasps. His voice shakes. “Xiao Wei. _Melda._ Tell me what’s wrong.” Wei shakes his head, smiling.  Touches his burned hand to Kun Lun’s wet face, and Kun Lun realizes what he called Wei at the same moment he feels Wei’s fingers against his skin.

He freezes. Wei immediately pulls back, face going pale.

“I’m sorry-“ He starts, but then he falls silent. Because Kun Lun has taken a deep breath, catching his wrist in one hand. Hesitating for just a moment before nuzzling his face against the back of Wei’s hand.

“Kun Lun-“ Wei’s voice breaks. Kun Lun closes his eyes. Holds Wei’s fingers to his lips for a very long moment. He can taste the salt of his tears at their tips, the blood and bitterness of the ointment, and it does not hurt. This does not hurt. Wei’s touch will never hurt again, Kun Lun fiercely tries to force his body to believe it as he lets go of Wei’s hand. Thrusts in deeply into Wei’s body, curving around him, cradling him as Wei cries out.

 “ _Vanimelda_.” Kun Lun says again, his voice low and fiercely tender as he holds Wei close against him. “Beloved beauty. _My_ Beauty. My Xiao Wei.” Punctuating each word with a kiss as Wei turns to face him, his eyes luminous. He kisses Wei’s face, everywhere he can reach, tasting his tears. Holds him tighter, thrusts deeper.

 _This does not hurt._ He cradles the back of Wei’s hand in his, kisses his fingers and his wrist.

 “ _Melinyel.”_ Wei whispers. Kun Lun holds Wei’s hand against his chest, pressing the back of it over his heart.

“I forgive you.” Kun Lun whispers, then thrusts in one last time. Wei cries out, and Kun Lun holds Wei tight against him, the both of them losing themselves in each other’s skin as they come.

\---

When Kun Lun comes to, he’s alone. He blinks. Once, twice. They had fallen asleep curled around each other after their lovemaking, and he recalls a sleep-vague memory of Wei kissing him softly before getting up, giving in and wrapping his arms around Kunlun for a moment when he tries to tug Wei back down onto the pallet.

 It’s with some bemusement that Kun Lun notices he’s already dressed. Wei must have done it before he left.

Kun Lun sits up. His head feels a little woozy, but clearer than it’s been for a very very long time.

“ _Melinyel.”_ He says out loud. He leans his head against his bars, wondering how he can get his lover to give him an explanation for what happened to his hands - and then he sees it.

Gurthang, his sword. Resting by the unlocked doorway of his cell in its scabbard and belt. Kun Lun stares at it. His eyes wide. Then he immediately leaps to his feet without wasting any time.

The corridors of the dungeon are deserted. Kun Lun holds his sword aloft, jaw gritted. Wary and tense, almost jumping at the slightest noise. But nothing comes out to meet him. No orc, or untold horror. The path out of the dungeon, strangely enough, is a straight one without any detours or forking corridors, and Kun Lun squares his shoulders. Sets out to follow it.

After an impossibly long time without running into anyone or anything, Kun Lun begins to hear sounds. Steel clashing against steel, the screams of orcs. And then he hears the bellow of an elf-horn, rattling the ramparts of the fortress. Kun Lun reaches the foot of the last staircase, leaping up to follow it. Stares down at the lights below him. The fortress is being besieged.

He emerges to the light of the moon, and after so long underground even this is too bright to look at. Kun Lun blinks, disoriented, sword arm thrust out in front of him, the stench of smoke-filled air the sweetest of breezes after so long underground. And then he hears it. The beat of mighty wings.

“Oi! Kun Lun!” Da Qing’s voice somehow still carries in high winds of the tower, the eagle he’s riding deftly avoiding the volley of arrows an orc archer shoots at it. Da Qing curses, takes aim with his own bow and arrow. The orc falls with an arrow to his head, and Da Qing lands on the tower on his feet, catlike.

Kun Lun stares at him blankly for a moment, unsure about whether or not this is real, and then Da Qing tackles him to the ground as an arrow whizzes past him. The sting of the arrowhead gashing open his cheek _waking him up_ and he springs up as Da Qing dispatches the last archer with a well-aimed knife. Turning to face Kun Lun, who’s grinning so broadly that his face aches from how it pulls at the cut on his cheek. Tears sting his eyes as he grabs his best friend’s shoulders and holds him tight.

“ _Kun Lun. This_ is where you’ve been? We’ve been looking for you for _months._ ” Da Qing says, practically babbling. “The others said you were dead but your mother and I never believed it.” Kun Lun’s about to reply when Da Qing stiffens. Kun Lun looks up to find Wei watching them, masked and hooded.

“Kun Lun. Run.” Da Qing says tersely. He reaches for the staff strapped to his back. It was easy to forget, with his youthful face and childlike demeanor that Da Qing was actually a Wizard sent to Middle-Earth to do the Valar’s bidding. Kun Lun places a hand on his shoulder. He doubts Da Qing would even consider that these orders came from the last Vala he expected.

“ _Kun Lun,”_ Da Qing snaps. “Don’t make me push you off this tower.” Kun Lun squeezes his shoulder and takes a step forwards.

“It’s all right.” He says. “There’s nothing to fear.” He ignores Da Qing’s splutter of horror as he stows his sword back in his scabbard and walks towards Wei.

Wei is very still as Kun Lun takes him into his arms. “Xiao Wei,” he murmurs, reaching up to push down his hood and remove his mask. He drops the mask to the floor, and Wei’s hands cling tight to the front of his shirt – they’ve been bandaged but the blood staining them tells Kun Lun they haven’t healed, and Kun Lun feels his chest twist. Wei’s eyes are overbright with unshed tears but there’s relief on his face – which quickly turns to pale rage when he sees the cut on Kun Lun’s cheek. Kun Lun shakes his head, grabs his hand.

“He’s dead. The orc who clipped me. Da Qing got him.” Wei breathes out, and in his eyes Kun Lun sees all of Wei’s worst fears, coming true. He holds Wei tightly, willing him to calm down, his lips pressed against Wei’s forehead as he strokes the back of his neck. After a short eternity, Wei lifts his head. Slowly lifts his fingers up, pressing lightly on Kun Lun’s cheek. Kun Lun grits his teeth against the sting and the memories as Wei heals him.

“Go,” Wei whispers. “You’re safe now.” But Kun Lun shakes his head, his breath coming in hard and fast.

“Xiao Wei. Come away with me.”  He says, voice tight and strained. “Before Ye Zun finds out you let me go.” The one who had granted Kun Lun the path through the fortress is unmistakeable. But Wei is already stepping back. Kun Lun tightens his grip around him, but he struggles free, takes a bundle out from his sleeve.

Kun Lun’s breath catches when the bundle falls open. There’s a chain, made of twined mithril and gold threads. From the end of it hangs a pendant – a single glittering jewel, full of holy light.  

“A silmaril.” Da Qing breathes. Kun Lun’s mind works quickly, remembering one of the many, many things Wei had told him about his past. _One of three, made from the light of the Two Trees. My brother and I plotted to steal them._ “How- _Why-?”_ Wei interrupts by placing the chain around Kun Lun’s neck. The gem presses against the skin of his arm, and Wei jerks away, flinching.

“Xiao Wei-“ Kun Lun says,  steadying him. Wei breathes heavily, looks up.

“It’s yours now.” Wei’s voice is soft. “I can’t touch it, it burns.” He reveals his arm, the spot the gem had touched has already blistered and blackened. Kun Lun’s breath catches in his throat when he realizes how Wei had burned himself.

“I crafted the chain to protect you from any dark forces that seek to hunt you. The gem will amplify its properties.” His gaze softens. “For the silmaril, return it to the Valar if you need to. If you have to, use it better than I ever did. Do not let anyone else know you have it.” He tries to take another step away from Kun Lun’s arms. Kun Lun stops him by grabbing at his shoulders. The weight of the silmaril is heavy around his neck, and he could care less about it.

“ _Xiao Wei,”_ he says, full of frustration. Wei’s body is slender, unarmoured and fragile. Kun Lun has to fight the urge to gather him closer, take him away from all of this. “What’ll happen to _you_?” He forces himself to say instead. Wei just looks at him.

“I cannot abandon my brother.” He says softly. Kun Lun’s about to protest, _you can’t let yourself be your brother’s shade all your life_ but a gentle hand to his lips stops him.

The touch is cool through his bandages, tasting of blood. It does not hurt, but it does silence Kun Lun. Wei’s smile is sad as he takes his hand away.

 “Everything he did, I agreed with. I crafted the plan to steal the silmarils. When Ye Zun destroyed the Two Trees, I slaughtered the Eldar to protect him. I lusted for power in Middle-Earth, the same as he did. I hurt _you._ Destroyed your family. Tortured you. _”_ Wei says. “We shared in one terrible deed after another.  I asked for your forgiveness. You were right. I have not done anything to deserve it. I do not know if I ever can.”

“Xiao Wei…” Kun Lun says _._ Wei lets out a breath. Kisses Kun Lun, quiet and sweet before stepping away from Kun Lun’s arms.

“Go.” Wei says. “I will protect you. I swear that no further harm will come to you or your own from me. I’m setting you free.” One look at his face shows Kun Lun there’s no persuading him. Kun Lun does the only thing he can, tugging Wei into his arms one last time.

“You already have my forgiveness,” It’s nothing more than a breath in Wei’s ear.  “You never needed to do anything else to earn it.” Wei‘s hands spasm, like he’s trying to stop himself clutching at Kun Lun. Kun Lun tightens his grip in answer.

 “Kun Lun!” Da Qing snaps. An explosion shakes the tower they’re on. Wei shoves him away, and Da Qing yanks him off the tower. And they’re falling, falling, right until they land on the eagle’s back.

Even as the great feathered wings bear them away, Kun Lun turns his face up, his eyes stinging, to watch Wei’s figure, shrinking in the distance. A small dark shape fading in the night.

\---

Afterwards is the exhausting business of homecoming. Da Qing and Thorondor of the eagles fly him back to the army camp, and Kun Lun somehow manages to get through the sea of cheering, triumphant soldiers celebrating their victory over the Black Envoy.

“He’s fled!” Lin Jing, one of Kun Lun’s old army lieutenants sports a bloody bandage around the side of his head. “Back to Angband with his tail between his legs! Tol-in-Gaurhauth has fallen!” Kun Lun misses the celebration thatnight – he’s too busy debriefing the events of what is apparently a year and a half to Da Qing and the Elven Lords who had led the surprise assault. What comes out is a very truncated version that no one questions and which Da Qing mercifully does not contest. When he’s done the Elven-King of Doriath places a hand on his shoulder.

“Doriath has your thanks, Kun Lun Half-Elven.” He says gravely. Kun Lun snorts.

“Damn right you should be grateful.” He says flatly, too exhausted to at all be decorous. Lin Jing winces, and Da Qing sighs. But it’s the Wizard who manages to get him a tent all to himself.  Transforming into a cat and allowing Kun Lun to stroke his fur for one mindless hour after another, lost in thought. It’s Da Qing who fends of all Kun Lun’s visitors, until the day a She-Elf dressed in white enters the tent.

Kun Lun stares at her a solid moment, unable to trust his eyes, to believe she’s there. And then the Lady Shen Xi, the rightful Queen of Dór-lomin, takes a step towards him, whispering his name, and Kun Lun crumbles into his mother’s arms. 

“Father’s still alive,” Kun Lun whispers. “The Black Envoy told me.” It’s hours later, maybe days. His head is in his mother’s lap, and she’s braiding his hair. He’d forgotten how much he loves it when she does that. Just as he’s forgotten a lot of things in that dark hole.

His mother’s fingers pause from plaiting his hair. “I know,” she says. “I feel him still. It will not be long before he can come home.” Kun Lun shifts in her arms. His mother’s powers of precognition were things he grew up never questioning. The words are calm but there’s an ineffable grief behind them, and the terrible weight of it is one both mother and son have learned to share.

His mother’s eyes are calm as he looks into them. So dark they’re almost black, and Kun Lun remembers Wei. He sucks in a sharp breath, willing the pain to ebb. And his mother covers his hand with hers.

“Enough about my pain.” She says. “You carry a weight, and it’s not just the jewel you were entrusted with.” Kun Lun lets out a breath, reaches for the chain around his neck. He, pulls it over his head and places it in his mother’s hand. The silmaril glitters, filling the tent with its pure light, and his mother hastily covers it with her sleeve. It glows dimly under the sheer silk, and Kun Lun looks at it.

“Will I see him again?”  Kun Lun asks. By the sadness in his mother’s expression, he knows he doesn’t need to name who the giver is.

Kun Lun’s mother is silent. “Your fate was always twined with the Black Envoy’s, from the moment you met.”  She says. “Even now, I do not see the end of it. Whether this is for good or for ill, I do not know.” She puts the pendant around Kun Lun’s neck again, and Kun Lun could swear he can feel it warm upon being reunited with his skin. He fingers it lightly, the grief and longing a hot lump in his throat as he covers the jewel and its light with his palm.

 “Can I save him?” Kun Lun asks at last, opening his eyes. His mother gives the hand covering the silmaril a squeeze.

“Time will tell.” She says. “Wei is not a prisoner, but the chains he placed around himself are those of love and duty, and very difficult to break. You cannot destroy them by forcing him to wear your own bonds. If the Black Envoy yearns for freedom from his name, he has to be the one to seek it.” Kun Lun tucks the pendant in his shirt.

“Maybe that’s the case. But.” Kun Lun says, and then smiles. “Whatever decision he makes, he shouldn’t have to be alone.” His mother says nothing, but as Kun Lun buries himself in her arms he sees that same grief, mingled with pride.

 _Vanimelda,_ he thinks. _I’ll see you again._ The chain warms around his throat.

\----

Because it’s a war, and the Dark Lord is insatiable, in no time at all Kun Lun’s back on the battlefield again. Barking out orders, leading the combined forces of Elves and Men alike to beat back the Dark Lord’s forces. Kun Lun wades through the blood, muck, and pain. Sometimes it’s a victory and the Dark Lord’s forces are routed, howling as they crawl back hiding into the dark places of the world. Sometimes it’s staggering loss, and Kun Lun can only save those that are left.

Two months after Wei sets Kun Lun free, an orc-lieutenant arrives in the outskirts of Doriath bearing a carved box and a white flag. Lin Jing and San Zan restrain the orc, and Kun Lun opens the box to find dust and ash and ground bone.

“The Black Envoy sends his regards,” The orc spits out. “Your father killed himself immediately after finding out about your escape, slit his throat to avoid worse torment from the Dark Lord.” The orc laughs, but when San Zan makes a move to cut off his head, Kun Lun stops him. It’s difficult for him to tell orcs apart, but he thinks he recognizes the features of the one who would bring him food, when he was in his cell.

Kun Lun does not need to ask where the blade with which his father killed himself could have come from.  He cradles the box in his hands, turns to the orc.

“Your master has my thanks for returning my father’s body to my family.” Kun Lun says, his voice brusque but even.  He lets the orc go – ignoring San Zan and Lin Jing’s stares - and sends for his mother. They spend that night sitting together by the cairn they built for his father,mourning.

“Will you go now?” Kun Lun asks quietly. His mother leans against his shoulder, her black hair streaked with silver. Elves who loved mortals forsook their immortality and were allowed to follow their lovers where the rest of the Eldar were not allowed to follow. But his mother shakes her head.

“You still need me.” She says, though she sounds weary beyond endurance. Kun Lun remains a while by his father’s grave after she’s left. When he looks up, there is a crow watching him.

 Crows were not to be trusted, he remembers Da Qing telling him. They were usually the Dark Lord’s spies. Kun Lun stares back at this bird, but it does not fly away.

 _“What choice will you make?”_ Wei had asked him this. They had been twined together, and Wei had rested his head against Kun Lun’s chest. Listening to his beating heart, and Kun Lun was lightly touching the shell of his ear with his finger. _“You are Half-Elven. Have you chosen the fate of Men or the Elves?”_ Kun Lun had shrugged.

 _“I’ve always favoured my father’s kin more than my mother’s.”_ Kun Lun had replied honestly, and Wei had jerked his head up. Kun Lun had settled him with a hand to his cheek. _“But that doesn’t mean I can’t choose otherwise, if I must.”_ Wei had been tense under his touch. Kun Lun had kissed him on the forehead, soothing him. But the hurt had lingered, and the fear. Wei had clung to him after, and Kun Lun kept him pressed against his beating heart. _See, I am alive._

Later, after Kun Lun had closed his eyes, he thought he heard a whisper in his ear. “ _I will follow you, Kun Lun. Whatever choice you make, mortality or eternal life. I will follow and share whatever fate you have.”_ Now, Kun Lun smiles at the memory. At the crow when it flutters closer.

 “Tell him I’m all right.” Kun Lun finally says.  His voice breaks a little, but he manages to pull himself together. "That I understand. Thank you for ending his pain." There are so many other things he wants to say. When he looks up again, the crow is gone.  

Years fold into centuries. There are decades of peace broken up by wars and bloodshed, Kun Lun gladly forgetting the reek of blood in his lungs only to inhale the stench of blood and decay once again. Angband remains in the East, mighty and unfallen, while Kun Lun’s mortal allies wither, fade, and die. The Elves and Men keep an ever-vigilant watch on its borders while the Dark Lord holds back his strength. The both of them waiting for cracks in each other’s defences, just waiting to make the first final devastating attack.

Through it all Kun Lun keeps the chain around his neck, the silmaril hidden beneath his shirt. Blades glancing off of him and all manner of evil things unable to perceive him so long as he wears the chain. And as Kun Lun fights and struggles and wins he’s searching, always searching the battlefield, or even the peace-gilded streets. Watching and waiting. The elanor and niphredil blooming around him in spring. Snatches of beauty stolen in war, and greedily hoarded during peace. The weight of the passing years pressing down on him the same way it always does for the children of the Eldar. The warmth of the chain against his skin giving him comfort during the long, lonely ages, and he wonders if Wei’s hands have healed. How often he thinks of Kun Lun. If even now, he’s watching him from afar, protecting him, or if the passing years have caused the memory of their time together to fade.

“I miss you.” Kun Lun Lun says out loud one evening. It’s high summer. The sun is just beginning to set and there are fireflies dancing beneath the gloom of the trees. Kun Lun leans against the mound of his parents’ graves. He’s about to close his eyes when he sees a still, cloaked figure watching him, but when he scrabbles to his feet the figure has faded into the mist, and no matter how thoroughly Kun Lun combs through the surrounding forest, calling for Wei’s name, he does not find him.

And then one day, the siege breaks. War between the forces of heaven and hell erupts, Angband’s armies grown arrogant, threatening to swallow Middle-Earth whole. Kun Lun surrenders the silmaril to his mother, who takes it to the Valar with a plea for aid. When it’s all over, the whole world has been shattered, many lands lost to the sea, many more broken and dead. The remainders of the Valinor’s victorious host are marching upon Angband, where the Dark Lord is friendless and alone, his army slaughtered and his allies dead. But Kun Lun is not with them. He’s frantically searching among the ruins of the battlefields where the Black Envoy had fallen.

“Xiao Wei!” He calls out, frantic. Da Qing follows him, having given up on making him see reason. The chain bounces against Kun Lun’s chest, warm. Around them lie mounds of the dead, Elves and Men and orcs and goblins, crumpled and broken, swarming with flies and rot. Kun Lun’s eyes burn. And then he feels it. Heat lances through the chain around his neck, and Kun Lun kneels to the ground, starts digging through a pile of corpses.

“Xiao Wei,” he pants, bile rising in his throat at the stench of rot. Da Qing swears, starts to help. And then Kun Lun finds him. 

Wei looks like a flower broken in the mud, his black cloak ripped and stained with blood, his armor dented, his mask gone who knew where. Kun Lun’s hands shake as he lifts him into his arms, presses his fingers against his throat. The relief rushing through him a painful thing, when he feels the weak beat of Wei's pulse.

“ _Vanimelda,”_ Kun Lun whispers. Wei’s bones are broken. There’s an ugly gash bleeding at his side, and he moans in pain when Kun Lun gathers him into his arms, lays him on a plain. Da Qing wordlessly gives him a handful of _athelas._ Wei does not open his eyes, not even when Kun Lun lays his hand against his cheek. Gently calling his name, pouring whatever remained of his own powers to heal him, crushing the _athelas_ with shaking hands and packing it into Wei’s wounds.

“Come on,” he mutters, angry now. “Come _on,_ you promised you would follow me. –“ His voice breaks. Wei’s hands are limp and unhealed, covered in bandages gone crusted and filthy with blood. Kun Lun brings one to his lips, his eyes blurring with tears. And then he feels an answering squeeze. Kun Lun lifts his gaze to exhausted dark eyes watching him from a bloodied face.

Later, there will be the long, slow process of healing. The Black Envoy will disappear from the annals of history – at least for a time. After the battlefield, Wei will wake up to sunlight and the sound of the sea, Kun Lun cradling his hand in his. There will be the slow, tentative dance of bridging the years between them, the unimaginable loss. The things yet unresolved, the still-bleeding wounds that remain to be staunched at the dawn of the new age. Kun Lun will hold Wei as he falls apart at his brother’s capture and final imprisonment until the end of Arda, his sobs equal parts guilt and relief. But for now, Wei’s smile is tired and soft as his fingers press against Kun Lun’s face. Kun Lun lets out a shaky breath, remembering words spoken to him in a dungeon, years and years ago.

“Xiao Wei, _melinyel_.” He breathes. Wei’s breath hitches, tears lining his dark eyes, the same as Kun Lun’s, and Kun Lun smiles as he kisses him, gathering him up in his arms and taking him home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to fangirlishness and her picking apart this work to make it better, and nemo and mark for their wonderful encouragement. :D


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